


Awaken

by 84Reesdy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coma, Dirty Talk, F/M, Healing, Hospitals, Post War AU, Severus Snape Lives, Sexual Content, Snager, Snape Lives, snamione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:47:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26642431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/84Reesdy/pseuds/84Reesdy
Summary: Though he has survived Nagini's venomous bite, Severus Snape isn't quite out of the woods yet.It takes an insufferable know-it-all to treat what ails him,  but what's even more surprising is her unusual method.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 26
Kudos: 169





	Awaken

Somehow the venom had not completed its arterial mission. The shallow breath was barely passing his lips when Harry Potter had left his side, naturally assuming his death. Severus had assumed it as well, as the blackness enveloped his vision. He succumbed to the abyss, exhausted by years of duality. 

But that persistent breath, a flicker of life that refused to yield. It persisted where his will no longer could. It was so subtle and quiet that it was deemed a miracle when the authorities that came to move his body even noticed it at all. His pulse, though weak, was still coursing. There was no lack of urgency into seeking immediate care. The rumored truth circulated quickly and though unconsciously unaware, Snape had become a celebrity in the wake of his personal sacrifices.

Every method of magical medical intervention was applied and ultimately failed - though his condition didn’t degrade. Even muggle-based expertise was consulted with no further progress. Other than a strengthening pulse and leveling breaths, Snape remained in a comatose state. His privacy was strictly guarded by rotating ministry officials. Though he was not particularly close to any individual persons, it was not difficult for anyone to deduce that he coveted his privacy and would demand it if he were conscious. 

A select few were let in as visitors, though they had little to say and more so just wished to see him living with their own eyes. Draco visited to thank him; his tearful gratitude fell upon silence. As did Harry’s apology. As did the words of his fellow professors and even the Minister himself. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

Hermione did not feel as if she had some special key to unlocking Snape from the prison of his own repose, but she did have a talent for research and progressive logical thought. She researched both muggle and magical texts on the human brain and was discouraged to discover how little was actually known. She had to delve into the theoretical, desperate for any answer. 

She did stumble across the findings of recovered coma patients where they were mentally aware yet the body was physically unresponsive. The thought was a frightening prospect, but it ignited a pity that nagged at her like an incessant mosquito. If she were in a similar situation, she knew it would drive her to madness if left without some sort of intellectual stimulation. If she were wrong - there would be no harm done. He wouldn’t have heard a thing she said and she could at least take comfort in her effort. 

She requested to have an extended visit with him in his hospital room, its exact location was classified. Though she had to explain herself and it was unconventional for someone so young to be considered for unsanctioned research - the Ministry had exhausted their own intelligence. Hermione prepared for her visit by first returning to Hogwarts. She perused the personal belongings of Severus Snape under the permission of Headmistress McGonagal and gathered items with purposeful selection. Though most of the possessions were academic in nature - she gravitated towards items of personal affect. 

“I have a great deal of guilt that I thought myself so close to him, yet had no concept of his true self,” Minerva lamented as she watched Hermione be peculiarly selective.

“I think he prided himself in that, Professor,” Hermione tried to console her former Head of House, “He wouldn’t have been successful if he had been anything less,”

“I’ll admit I’m a bit surprised to hear you speak so positively of him, considering that he never quite held much esteem for you,” Minerva mindlessly picked up a potions manual, flipping through its dusty pages. 

“He could be cruel,” She affirmed, having received the brunt of his cruelty on many occasions, “But I think he was a little scared to care as well. I think it's why he lashed out at Harry so. Him being Lily’s son and all,” Hermione had still been floored by Harry’s recount of Snape’s shared memories. 

“I know you’ve heard this before, but you really do have a maturity beyond your years, Hermione,” Minerva said warmly. Hermione smiled in response, taking an  Advanced Potion Making and an  Herbs of the Scottish Highlands text. She placed them next to a folded cloak, a pair of wool socks, and a small collection of fragrant potions. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione was transported by Ministry escorts through several portkeys, her vision obscured. She felt nauseated by the journey and nearly passed out from dizziness when they arrived in an indiscriminate location. She felt uncertainty prickle through her as she second guessed attempting this at all. Who was she to think she had the answers? So many experts had come and gone with no progress - who was she to come out of nowhere with such conceded notions. 

Her reticence attacked, but her feet kept moving forward as she was escorted to a stone building, deep in a thick forest. She wasn’t sure what kind of hospital to expect, having seen both Muggle and Wizarding hospitals. The building was not large and she soon presumed that there were likely only a few patients here. Those of high position and power. Snape was now among them. 

She had to admit she was surprised to be left alone in the room with him. Had it not been for a steady rise and fall of his chest, she’d have thought he was really dead. She stood by the door for the longest time, clutching the strap of the bag on her shoulder. 

“Hello, Professor. It's Hermione...Granger,” She felt awkward speaking to him, but knew from her reading that anything to trigger a cognitive response was potentially beneficial, “I brought some of your things…” She opened the bag and pulled out a small box. She placed it on the floor and a charm enlarged the trunk to its original size. She went about arranging Snape’s personal possessions around him and the room. Familiarity was key. Smells, sounds, any and every sense could hold the key to unlock the prison of his condition. 

Hermione found it almost unnerving to be so physically close to him. She realized how much she avoided him over the years, though who could blame her? Kindness and warmth were in short supply with him. What little he had was squandered on Slytherin students.

Snape was in plain pajamas, a blanket pulled over his chest. Hermione wrinkled her nose at the unflattering light blue. He looked completely out of place. She draped his dark cloak over him and he instantly looked much more like himself. 

“That’s better, isn’t it Professor?” She reminded herself to continue speaking to him as if she were narrating her visit, “I brought many of your things, I hope you don’t mind me going through them,” She could have imagined that fact alone might have woke him - to berate her for invading his privacy, but he did not move. He remained still, slowly breathing. She placed a book of his that she had not perused on his chest, moving his hand to lay over it. 

The physical contact felt awkward and personal. She tried to remind herself that it was for the sake of his therapy. She pulled up a chair, letting the legs screech across the stone floor. If he could hear her at all, he might be able to build a vision in his mind of what was happening around him. She tried not to let the discouraging words of the practiced healers dissuade her. 

_ “We’ve tried every spell, even the restricted, risky ones. The poison is just stronger than any magic we’ve seen.”  _

_ “We don’t have any idea what Voldemort enhanced Nagini with. The snake is still being studied.” _

At least those healers were respectful.

_ “As if some nobody can come in off the street with some rudimentary charm for first years’. The Ministry must truly be desperate.” _

Not every healer was ready to admit defeat, even if it meant living in a delusion.

“Potion making is a critical art that dates back to the discovery of magic itself,” Hermione read aloud from the first page of  Advanced Potion Making , “It is argued that it might even predate the earliest recorded instances of magic. The earliest known potions were likely the product of misfortune; a serendipitous accident.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione struggled to remain positive as she sat for hour after hour, day after day attempting to stimulate Snape’s mind into consciousness. She did not expect immediate results. She wasn’t entirely sure what she expected, only that she felt compelled to help through basic humanity to someone who had been so misunderstood.

She misquoted certain lines, certain instructions for potion recipes. She would glance over the top of the book each time, hopeful to see a tic in his face, a twitch of his finger, anything at all. The need to correct her must have been overwhelming if he was at all cognizant. 

“This potion is relatively simple, even for ...greasy haired, snide, rude gits like you!” She snapped as she slammed the book shut, her eyes staring daggers at the unmoving form. She slouched in the chair, her head falling backwards, “I bet if I whipped my tits out you’d wake up,” She sneered towards the ceiling. 

The noise she heard next caused her brow to furrow and her head to snap up in confusion as she looked around for its source. It was an odd noise that she couldn’t even really place. She looked towards Severus, he hadn’t moved since she’d arrived. Had it been a groan she heard? Had it been a trapped and weak  _ hrmph _ ?

She stood up taking a few steps toward him.

“Did you say something, Professor?” As if he would respond, “Or was it because I said ‘tits’?”

“ _ Hrmm, _ ” the voice came from his throat. His mouth stayed closed, but the sound definitely came from him. She’d had a breakthrough! She barely kept herself from squealing as the realization washed over her. Before she did anything else she grabbed her journal and quickly jotted down the time, the conditions, and the patient's response. 

“I’m guessing that means you aren’t a leg man then,” She said out loud. His lack of response wasn’t surprising. She scribbled a few more notes down before staring at him, contemplative. She scooted the chair closer, this time careful that it did not scrape across the floor. She did not want to be overheard with her newly forming approach.

“Professor,” Her whisper was sultry as she addressed him, “Perhaps it's only dirty things that you respond to?” she could not see his entire body bent down so closely to his ear, but she might have glanced a slight clench of his jaw. She brushed loose strands of hair away from his ear, “Or perhaps I should go back to talking about what marvelous tits I have?” 

Her breath had to have been tickling his ear, perhaps that’s why his moan was more prevalent than the first two. She peered up at his face, his eyes were still closed as if in an endless sleep. 

“Well,” She was blushing so hard, she was sure her cheeks were redder than Gryffindor’s banners, “I’m sure you’ve noticed they aren’t the biggest breasts, but they’re very firm,” There was no moan, but perhaps his last breath was heavier, “And the prettiest pink nipples, very sensitive,” 

“Hmmmmm, Hrrrmmmph,” They weren’t the loudest, but there were two distinct noises. Her progress spurred her to continue, regardless of the questionable ethics. 

“I nearly cream my knickers when someone sucks them. They get so hard!” She almost giggled, feeling somewhat ridiculous. The words that came out of her mouth sounded like her, but she almost couldn’t believe that’s what rolled off her tongue, “And speaking of my knickers…”

His rumble did not leave his lips, but growled in his chest. It was as if a beast was lying in wait, primed for the moment to pounce. 

“They might be a little damp now. Talking dirty like this is exciting don’t you think?” She prodded him again for a response, receiving nothing. She would have to be a little more provocative. 

“Professor...if you promise to keep it our little secret...you can touch my tits yourself and tell me what you think.”

“Hnnnmm,” 

She wished she could translate what he was saying if it was even anything at all. She looked at the door unbuttoning her blouse with shaky fingers. Her passing eyes stalled when she noticed his hand. His own finger twitched ever so slightly. 

“Professor! Naughty…” She sat next to him again, whispering as she tried to expose herself to a minimum degree, “I’d have let you feel me up day one if I’d known being kinky would wake you.”

A longer string of moans brushed past his lips. She had to wonder if he even knew it was her. Was it just the words? Was it her voices? Was it the fact that it was  _ her _ ? If he didn’t wake, she’d never know.

“I hope no one walks in, however will I explain why my tits are out and my hand is in my knickers, pleasuring myself at the thought of you touching me?” That statement netted her the most dramatic response yet. His lips parted slightly and the growl from his chest wafted out as if warning her. 

“Don’t believe me?” She stood, again taking his hand. And though her grasp was still trembling, she continued. She let the edge of his hand brush past the swell of her breast, his knuckle grazed her peaked nipple. She knew that she was working herself up just as much as she was attempting to with him. Tilting his palm, her breast rested lightly against it. She didn’t even speak this time and his fingers twitched. She pressed her breast more firmly in his hand now, “Squeeze them, Professor, feel how firm they are?” 

His hand did not squeeze, but she felt the pressure of more than one fingertip tremor.

“You have to open your eyes, Professor....they look even better than they feel…” Coercion and smutty words were definitely an odd prescription. When she placed his hand down, he hummed again, but this sounded….why it almost sounded disappointed, “That’s the only free pass you get, Severus,” She bit her lip as she said his name. She felt like a schoolgirl speaking beyond her station. But she wasn’t that schoolgirl anymore and he was no longer her professor.

“You’ll need to work if you want to touch anything else,” She placed her lips next to his ear again, this time even closer. The tickle of her breath must have been nearly excruciating. 

His grumble was unintelligible but sounded like words being strung together.

“Almost there professor,” She feigned a strained tone as if she were rubbing herself to a climax, “Please...please help me finish. Don’t you want to help me finish, Severus?”

A loud sudden moan startled her; he must have been fighting to come to.

“Perhaps you want me to touch you?” She felt a wave of shame and excitement wash over her - her mind struggled with the lack of consent of such a statement, “But...you have to wake up and tell me how to touch you. You have to tell me what you want me to do to you. No questions asked,” She compelled him. 

“N….na…” he was trying to say something! She popped her head up, hoping to watch his mouth move. But as she did so, she noticed the ever so slight slit of space between his eyelids. While she was not exposed, the front of her blouse gaped open.

“Sir?” She leaned closer. His eye lids parted slightly more. She felt the blush creep back up as she tried to quickly button her blouse back up, “Sir, can you hear me?”

“Gr…” His lips barely moved as if his mouth were parched dry, “Gr-anger...?” He said with a raspy tone. She could almost hear that same disdain in his tone that he’d often spoken to her with in the past. 

“Yes! Yes, Professor! Hermione Granger!” She was so excited that she could barely control the volume or shrill tone of her voice.

“Na...N..” He tried to moisten his mouth. Hermione fumbled with a cloth, dipping it in water before applying it to his lips and letting him absorb the water from it. 

“What was that now, Professor?” She felt frazzled, almost unbelieving that she actually had achieved what every other healer in the wizarding world had failed at. 

“Nasty girl,” His dark eyes stared with a potent focus, but she noticed the lack of demoralizing judgement. She smiled though it was a nervous and insecure reaction. His eyes seemed lethargic, but he did glance down at her chest before back up at her face. She knew he’d been aware now and she was wholly embarrassed. 

“I’ll...I’ll go get the healers…” She mumbled, packing up her things quickly. 

“Grang-Granger,” He coughed a little, trying to swallow some moisture into his dry throat. She paused her hasty exit. 

“Yes, Professor Snape?” She turned her head back towards him. He struggled again to speak and she was quick, albeit a bit clumsy, to pour him a drink. She helped his head forward as he sipped gently.

“I think,” he paused, whether it was for dramatic purposes or lack of ability was uncertain, “I require more - of your therapy...first.”

  
  
  



End file.
